Scar Tissue
by Snape's Nightie
Summary: Snape cannot believe his eyes. Surely the great Albus Dumbledore would never stoop to...that? A silly short fic. No warnings, no angst.


A silly little short-fic. (Despite the title, it's not actually angsty).  
Characters: Snape, Dumbledore  
Warnings: None, no slash, no romance. A bit London-centric perhaps.  
Disclaimer: I'm just playing with JK Rowling's wonderful characters again, no money earned, no disrespect intended.

xxxxxxx

Snape barged into the Headmaster's office, blood-curdling snarl in place on his ugly face, black robes and hair flying as he stormed across the room.

"Albus! Where are you? That wretched brat! If the Dark Lord doesn't finish him off soon then I shall! Such insolence cannot be tolerated! He..." Snape froze in the action of pushing open the door into Dumbledore's private quarters.

He blinked.

"Good evening, Severus," the Headmaster attempted the usual warm smile he reserved for riding out his potions master's tantrums, but the perceptive spy noticed an unusually sheepish look in the blue eyes. "This is not what it looks like," he added quickly.

Snape sincerely hoped not. Albus Dumbledore, 150 year old living legend, vanquisher of Grindelwald, thorn in Voldemort's side, leader of the Light Forces and general figurehead for all things good, brave and slightly batty, was sitting with his feet resting on a stool. His robes were pulled up to thigh height, revealing spindly white-haired legs and a pair of comically knobbly old knees. In his right hand was a razor blade, which he was using to slice into his own flesh.

A trickle of blood ran down Albus' left calf and Snape's horrified gaze followed it. He had been teaching in a boarding school for most of his adult life and had seen just about every trick unhappy teenagers used to try and ease their personal pain. One of the most popular was cutting themselves with sharp objects as a physical manifestation of the hurts suffered by their souls. It was a self-destructive and upsetting habit, which Snape went to great lengths to try and heal, within his own house at least.

Snape's lower lip gave an involuntary wobble as he realised that the man he had looked up to as leader and friend indulged in something which most of his charges managed to grow out of by the time they left school.

"Albus...?" he wavered, unable to articulate the mixture of horror, disbelief and pity swirling inside him.

"Yes, my boy?" Dumbledore answered, self-consciously laying the blade down on a side table.

"Wha...?"

"Oh, this?" he indicated his mutilated knee as though noticing it for the first time.

The younger man nodded stiffly.

"The Jubilee Line extension," Albus explained.

"The _what?!"_ gasped Snape.

"I managed to get frightfully lost during my trip into muggle London this morning," he shrugged. "Apparently, the Jubilee line has been extended since my last visit. Now it runs all the way out to the East, and no longer stops at Charing Cross! It was most confusing!"

When Snape continued to stare blankly, he was forced to elaborate with a shrug.

"I was just updating my scar."

"You were...what?" Snape still looked thunderstruck, so Dumbledore beckoned him over for a closer look. He approached as cautiously as one would a nesting thestral and peered carefully at the joint. An ancient pattern of lines on the left kneecap made a funny squarish spider's web, slashed through on one side with a livid new cut. Snape reached out a thin finger as if to touch the wound, but retracted it and glared at the Headmaster as he digested the sight. "You actually _do_ have a scar in the shape of the London underground map!"

"Indeed," Albus beamed. "I have made no secret of the fact! Until today, it has been an infallable asset to navigating the metropolis."

"But," Snape's annoyance returned. "No one actually believed you! We all thought it was part of your Barmy Old Codger routine!"

"Barmy? Me?" Dumbledore blinked innocently. He smiled as Snape growled. "Anyway, my dear Severus. I believe you came to see me for a reason. The tone of voice you were using is normally reserved for discussing Mr Potter. Is there a problem?"

"What?" said Snape again, confused now. "Oh. Potter. Yes. He was...they...there is a serious problem...I mean..he and his acolytes..."

Dumbledore smiled attentively as the wrong-footed Snape struggled for words. "Yes?" he prompted.

Snape ran a hand through his hair and snorted. "Oh, never mind."

"Really?"

"Really, Headmaster."

"Very well," he touched a fingertip to the new scar, which was beginning to clot nicely. "I say, Severus. Do take a look at this little wart. It is in the perfect location to be Canary Wharf station!"

Snape gave a long-suffering sigh and leaned forward, suddenly feeling in need of a drink. "Very nice," he said.


End file.
